What is it they say about poking a sleeping bear with a stick?

Oh yeah, DON'T DO IT, DUMB-ASS!! Well, apparently, that's exactly what I've done. Most of you guys know my story, a little over three years ago now I was a bit "too" honest with a strange therapist (mine was on vacation) when I when in for a med check (because mine were BAD ju-ju and I wanted off them) and I ended up with a four-day, three-night stay in the Hotel California (as I like to call it). Granted, I wasn't in the best headspace BEFORE that little "incident", but since then, I've been on a personal lockdown ever since.

By lockdown, I mean I only left the house to go to work and the barest of necesssities. It was over a year before I could take my road trips again and they were sparse. I haven't been to Disney since 2016. And, because of events that happened in said "hotel", I've slept on the couch ever since, despite numerous attempts to return to sleeping in the bed. It had been three years of a very quarantine kind of life, even before Covid.

Then, the joy that is Covid came along and the rest of the world joined me in my lockdown. For a while, I liked the fact that I could go to work without traffic, or go to the store to pick up my groceries and not encounter an entire parking lot full of people. I stopped trying so hard to cover up my "weirdness" because I didn't need to...there was no one around to hide it from. I didn't have to worry about getting out anymore, so I didn't have to work on my "people skills" 24/7 and I just kind of "forgot" how to use them.

But then the death toll started climbing and I noticed that, even though I work in healthcare, the people around me weren't taking it seriously. As someone with OCD, germaphobia has NEVER been an issue with me...it is now. The lack of mask-wearing by everyone else, made me more paranoid and more scared to go out when the initial scare ended (what little it was in the beginning here in the South). Despite the rising death toll, the fear in that initial wave has never gone up (except in me). But around here, that initial "quiet time" wave was short, so when the traffic picked back up, so did my fear.

Now it's gotten harder and harder for me to go pick up my groceries. I have to park facing away from the door to avoid seeing all the people without masks. Getting gas for my car is worse. I'm even having panic attacks trying to get out of my car to come into work, because I know what I'm walking into...a building full of people who could care less, unlike me. And, worst part of all, those so-called "people skills" that I've learned to fake enough to get by my entire life, without those few weeks of keeping up practice on them, has somehow completely dissappated to the point that I can't remember how to "fake" even appearing normal anymore! How does that happen after an entire LIFETIME of building those up?

What little release I did have was my road trips, and Covid has wiped those out since February, so there has been no escapism at all. I've become more and more isolated from family (not that I had many to become isolated from). I've found myself unable to leave my office when I am at work, which causes issues when people around the lab need things. There are numerous projects I need to do that aren't in my office, but they aren't getting done because I've created a little prison at work as well. If my intern is around, I get him to do it, if not, I find a way to drag it out until he is here. Yeah, it's that bad.

For someone who was already emotionally crippled by a set of events that happened three years ago, suddenly, with Covid, I found myself in a state that is pretty much a non-functioning adult. Every single day is such a complete struggle, I constantly have to remind myself what I'm struggling for. Yes, I could just file for disability and stay home forever (which would make me emotionally happy), but that home would be the trailer I currently live in (so it would be a life of poverty and not one I would really want if I dive too deeply into it). Or, I could continue on with my path, drag myself out of the door every morning (which is what I do), so I can work towards getting a "real house" and have a comfortable place to come home to. But lately, that doorknob is getting harder and harder to turn every single day.

That is why, I started looking around for therapists again and, unfortunately, because I live in po-dunk Arkansas, I ended up back with the people that locked me up in the first place. Thankfully (or so I thought), they have new people now (including an Asper specialist), some of them have moved back to their old building I was used to (including the Asper specialist), and they are doing tele-health (although I don't know for how long, as she likes to keep reminding me (over and over again) that I will one day have to step foot in that building again...which I don't think I can do).

But then, I actually STARTED the therapy. And, after two sessions, I am now almost regressed to the state I was in the moment I left the "hotel"...you guys remember, when I couldn't even leave the house, or sleep, or eat? The nightmares are back with a vengeance, I have numerous panic attacks per day, and I'm pretty much terrified of my own shadow. I chose her because she was the best to deal with my particular issues, but we don't seem to be dealing with those...all she wants to focus on is the joy that was the Hotel California.

Last session, she pretty much told me that, although she is "willing to work with me", she really couldn't help me because she thought that I had too much "trauma" from my "hotel" stay and I needed to see a trauma specialist. At first, this pissed me off because, technically I was screwed up before they locked me up (or else I wouldn't have gone to therapy in the first place)...they just made it hundred times worse, Covid made it a thousand times worse and, thanks to just two simple therapy sessions, now I'm a million times worse! Then I checked out the place she recommended and it's OUTRAGEOUSLY expensive!! I live in a bloody trailer! She's aware of this (because I emailed her and chewed her out about it), but thinks it's "medically necessary" and "I need to find a way to afford it". Uh, ok, I'll just go rob that bank now.

But now, either by the power of suggestion, or regurgitating all this crap to a member of that "blessed" place, my lack of functionality has gotten so bad, that I now actually have to do something about it. So, before Thanksgiving, I finished the paperwork and today made the damned appointment. I won't be able to afford to go long-term, so I'm not sure where I'm going to have to draw the line. They are not going to be able to fix me at this point anyway, I'm a lost cause, but I at least need to get functionable again. I just hope they can do that before the money runs out.

I did stitch a bit yesterday, but now I'm too tired to post it, so maybe next time. And there's the story of how I ended back up and therapy, and why I'm now worse than ever. Yeah me.